


The Silence in Words

by Elster



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elster/pseuds/Elster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes silence is loudest. A cascade of useless words, but the deal is made by a moment of silence, a passage between lies that allows a look through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silence in Words

It's always been like this: the liar and the storyteller. So alike in some ways and worlds apart in others. Like players wearing masks; Pierrot and Harlekin. Sometimes silence is loudest. A cascade of useless words, but the deal is made by a moment of silence, a passage between lies that allows a look through. When this is all there is, everything that makes you: your mask and your lies, than it is truth. That's the power you have; you can believe it.

But if there's anything left behind the mask, it will hurt.

And that's what happened the first time, when all the words were spoken and all the deeds were done. Because at first Ianto wasn't sure what had happened at the warehouse. He couldn't be sure for a long time, couldn't be sure why it hurt the way it did. But it all made sense now.  
Mistrust so deep you could taste it at the back of your throat, like ammonia, and all the words, the flirting, the arguing, the pleading, they wouldn't make a difference. But there was truth in the hunt, in Jack's laughter against his face. Truth in the blood in his veins, the adrenaline, the pheromones and in being alive. Truth in betrayal; in having a beating heart when you shouldn't.

There are fairy tales and there are stories. Stories is how the world works and fairy tales are the opposite. How it should work, how a liar would make it work. The fairy tale is this: A tin man who craves a heart, who longs to feel. The story is a tale Jack knows: Of a dying man who wants to erase the pain, reinvent humanity. Oz in reverse, that's how it worked out in the end: tin men taking hearts.

So he tells Jack the fairy tale, because there's no truth he could possibly share.  
„Always liked that one,“ Jack says with a smile. There's a trap hidden in the smile, an obvious one. _You want to fall for this_ , the smile says. „Which of them is you?“  
He smiles back, because this one's clever. So yes, a bit more courage to make this work. Or maybe home, rewind the nightmare. „I want the perfect cup of coffee,“ he says and Jack laughs. It's the wrong tale anyway, had to be one with a spellbound princess, but that's a secret.

Jack's not a liar, which is funny because he thinks he is. Maybe he used to be one and his lies turned out true. It might be possible: getting so good at lying that you can't tell the difference. Or it just works down here, Jack's cave in a cave, because there's not too much world to contradict you.

That's the beginning: When Jack kisses Ianto, it's a kiss. Not much more, because Jack doesn't believe in much more, but it's that simple. Kiss is kiss.  
When Ianto kisses Jack, it's a lie. Not because Ianto doesn't want to, it's quite nice a lie, as lies go, but because of all the tales he tells himself to make it work. That's the hard thing about being a liar: you're constantly at odds with the world. Kiss is betrayal.

So he tells Jack about his father, about the tailor shop and the films they used to watch. It's soothing, because Jack likes to listen to stuff like that and Ianto likes to proof that he can still lie to him. And between the words, there's truth, too, because there is a reason for every lie. Ianto is never more honest than when he's telling them. In fairy tales wishes become true.

But that's never been how it worked out for him, has it? _Your lie is my command_ , the genie would say and make a world where Lisa gets well and no one gets hurt, where Ianto walks away with her and never looks back. There's three lies in there.

It doesn't work out. There's a lot of shouting, a lot of angry words that mean nothing. There's one silence that means a lot, but Ianto is not sure what it is. It's not one of the simple kisses. Jack's very good at those. _I like to kiss you_ , they say. Plain sailing.  
This one is disappointed. _I hate you for doing this to me._ And vicious. _You don't get away so easily._ It's a dozen other things, too, but Jack's bad at this and Ianto doesn't really care.

Ianto is okay with the clear part. Nothing's ever been easy for him. It's a flaw; in him or the world, he can't decide, but he was never quite right, never quite in a place that fit him, never quite happy. The world made him a liar and a survivor, because it couldn't make him match. Adapted, but not compatible. And you don't get away from that easily, because that would be giving in.

Later, Jack tells him the story of a con man who almost destroyed the world and an alien who saved him. The moral of the story, as far as Ianto can see, is that you get cursed either way, but if you're good, you say thank you. The story is not the important part, anyway, that was the silence before, when Jack decided to forgive.

It's easy after that. Not living in general, that's not easy at all. He's not over Lisa, not in the slightest. When she was still alive, when she was a monster, he was preoccupied and he had his lies and hopes. Now she's just dead like everybody else he knew in London and where's the purpose in that? He misses her so much that sometimes, he's glad about the dreams.

The easy part is being with Jack. Like it's always been: the liar and the storyteller. They get along. Jack's gentle when Ianto needs comfort and rough when he couldn't stand kindness. Sometimes Jack is just there and that's enough. Jack with his absurdly wide grins and his sad eyes, his bad jokes, sure touches and reassuring smell. It's not love, though sometimes Ianto likes to pretend it is. Sometimes he likes to pretend it's just a game they play. He calls it a hundred different things in his head, but it's all lies anyway, and if Jack has a label for it, Ianto couldn't guess what that would be. Between them, it's everything they want. (Of course, that's a lie, too, but sometimes you have to stop and smell the roses.)

He tells Jack about the dream. It begins with waking and Lisa sitting at his bedside (she's sitting on his chest, too heavy to be flesh and blood and she's strangling him), she smiles (she really does and her face is broken, part of her lips missing and blood on her teeth) and says 'I love you' (it's actually past tense and she kind of hisses it while smashing his skull with her metal hands). Ianto likes the version he tells Jack better. It's kind of the reason he tells it, because maybe it changes. Jack looks at him sadly and puts a hand on his shoulder.

It doesn't really matter what it is, because if it wasn't for Jack, he'd be... he doesn't know. It's some absurd black thing to think about. Because Ianto is lonely and grieving and sometimes just being seems to hurt, but Jack makes it less. Not the healing powers of sex or love or anything like that, just one thing in his life that's not shit and it's enough to cling to. From there he can work it.

There was this one moment after the beacons. It's sobering to come home from something like this and realize that, no, getting tenderized by cannibals doesn't even make it into the top three worst days of his life. Sobering and kind of funny (but maybe that's just the meds), because that could mean it can't get worse. He tells Jack and Jack looks at him like he does sometimes, like he could say something very wise and versed, but he prefers to spare you. It does nothing but annoy Ianto. He wants to tell him where to shove this patronising shit, but he's kind of busy kissing him, so another time. Maybe. Wouldn't help anyway.

He is half asleep and can't hold his eyes open, the pain meds and the exhaustion shift everything to indistinct. Jack is near him somewhere, his voice is near, and he tells a story about a boy searching for his lost brother, but Ianto can't put a context to it, nothing makes sense apart from the warmth and Jack's voice and after a while it blurs into a dream of a bloody cleaver in a gingerbread house. When he wakes up, his mouth dry and his head feeling like it's stuffed with cotton wool, Jack's gone.

But Ianto figures it out that day: when Torchwood protects the people and Jack protects Torchwood, that leaves Jack open. Ianto can do that, can be that, protect Jack from his ghosts. And when Jack needs him, he can stop agonizing about what to call it. As long as Jack needs him, everything works out.

Some days, Ianto is sure that he doesn't even like Jack that much. When Jack is distracted or moody or silly, when he's shallow. The thing about Jack is, that he can talk hours and hours and not say anything that could so much as break his skin. It's a gift and Ianto is jealous, as easy as that. Ianto doesn't talk much, because somehow, when he says something it always seems to mean too much. Words make him naked, vulnerable in a way he can't deal with and the only thing he found that helps is a thick veil of sarcasm.

Some days, Jack is anything but shallow and then, Ianto likes him even less. Way too close and Ianto isn't sure why he keeps hiding at first, but it becomes clear when Jack leaves. He's glad, he kept them, then. The mask and the lies. Wouldn't want to depend on someone like himself. Because Jack is, in many ways, when you get down to it, and Ianto doesn't think too highly of that. There was someone in Jack's basement, too, and in the end he gets away and Ianto stays behind.

Being with Jack, loving him, hating him, is a fucking mirror maze. Small comfort that it's probably exactly the same for Jack. Maybe it's nicer for him, because Jack's a bit narcissistic.

Being without Jack is like he can't see himself any more. It's not how it was supposed to be. He'd been so careful not to depend on Jack, to keep his mask and armour in place. It was Jack who needed him, not the other way around. Was he the only one fooled? The dreams come back, not only those of Lisa, but those of Canary Wharf. He thought he'd gotten through this, but now it seems like he'd just stuck band aids on gaping wounds.

It's ridiculous how everything seems to crumble, just because Jack's not there. He wasn't that important. It wasn't even love.

He traces back his steps like they're bread crumbs, grasping for some kind of foothold in the dark. If Jack doesn't need him, Torchwood does. It's probably just as fucked up a raison d'être, but it can't run away.

Lisa couldn't run, too. Maybe he went wrong far earlier than he realised.

Something is missing, but he can't remember what it is. His life used to be different, not as empty. He had a goal, ambitions, but now it just seems like he was running. It was just a life to get away from and he never quite stopped to think about the destination. Then there was Lisa and all was good, he wanted what she wanted, but that's not how it works, is it? You can't fill an empty life with love, that's just leeching.

Torchwood needs him and that's three people he barely knows. Always so caught up in his own head that they only register as check points on his lists. Tosh likes her coffee mild and green tea in the morning, Gwen likes chocolate in any form and Owen would drink tar as long as there's caffeine, but when he's not particularly hung-over he likes a side dish of banter. 

Something shifts without Jack. He used to be the thing that bound them together and kept them apart. Like forlorn wanderers not seeing each other, because they're busy trying to navigate by the stars. Now the sky is black and they're shouting out for each other. For a few days, Ianto stands at the side lines and watches, because that's the place he is used to.

He watches Gwen throwing herself into the renovation of the destroyed hub and at first he thinks it's ridiculous, like shifting the furniture to start new. It's the kind of thing crappy magazines would advertise after break-ups. But then he sees how she tags the others along. How she distracts Tosh from her non-stop hacking in search for the captain by asking her to design the new board room. How she gives Owen the old board room and a hammer and all they hear for hours is smashing, but when they see Owen again, he talks about the lab he wants to build in there and there's badly hidden excitement in his voice.

When Gwen comes for him he is ready to give her a chance. Truth is, he's reluctant to leave the side lines. He likes his shadows, he likes not being seen. Loneliness and necessity may lure him out, but he's still more comfortable hiding behind lies. They sort through Jack's paperwork together and Gwen's all big eyes and reassuring smiles, because she thinks Jack broke his heart.  
It's an easy mistake to make.

Gwen is a bit like Jack in some ways that make Ianto uncomfortable. She's so full of energy like the world is an ocean of possibilities and you can reach any island by just throwing together a raft from a tree or two. She makes living seem simple. 

She suggests to share Jack's office, it's certainly big enough and the two of them never had proper work places. Ianto doesn't like the thought and can't even to himself explain why. He opts for the space under the stairs, on the other end of the hub, with the armoury between him and Jack's office and ignores Gwen's knowing looks. She doesn't know anything, she just guesses. Or projects, Ianto thinks irritably. Well thanks, it's always easy to be honest, when it's not your own heart on the line.

Gwen's not good with lies or stories. A story is how the world works, it's true, but it's not life. It's a part of life, carefully cut out to show only what you want to show. That's why Jack likes stories. But Gwen, she's a detective and she likes to see the _bigger picture_. Like you could see it, the bigger picture. It's not that Ianto doesn't like her, he really appreciates the afford she makes to get to know him, he just doesn't want her to.

He gets involved in the team and surprisingly, it helps him. There's something that keeps each of them going. Tosh has her curiosity, that nerdy streak that makes her eyes light up for an alien gadget, Gwen wants to make the world better and Owen... well, it's just defiance for the most part, but Ianto can sympathise. He mimics and somehow it works and he feels like he could live like this, doing this job, playing this role. It doesn't even feel like a role so much, after a bit of time, there are days when it feels like healing.

Of course that's when Jack comes back. It's strange how something you're sure you wanted for month can almost make you panic. He's mad at Jack for walking out like this and for coming back with that same old swagger and the shiny grin. He hates the ease of it.  
He hates that seeing Jack again makes him want to throw himself into his arms. God, he's so pathetic. It's good that Jack's back. Professionally. Good for Torchwood, good for the moral.

Dammit, has the man always been so bloody perfect?

Gwen engineers it so the two of them are one search party. Bless her match making skills and her soap-trained romanticism. Ianto would rather go with John at the moment. At least with John he's sure that he wants to punch the guy. Jack is a different matter, more complicated, confusing.

Something is different, there's a crack in the mask. For once, Jack is not telling stories. No empty words, but plans. You and me. It's enough to believe in alien abduction for a moment or two. It's enough to crash through Ianto's defences like a speed train through a cardboard wall. He was prepared for flirting and the old smoke and mirror games, but a sliver of honesty is all it takes to make him fall again. That's the power you have: you can believe it.

This night, Jack tells him the story of a man captured by a tyrant, a girl walking the world telling fairy tales and lies becoming true. There's a story he doesn't tell behind that one. Of another man captured and his friends failing to save him, Ianto imagines. It's in the way Jack smiled at them. Like relieve. Longing. It's in the way he looks at Ianto. Something happened between them and Ianto doesn't know it. He's not sure how he feels about that. Angry probably, irrationally, at that sentimental alternate universe git for ratting him out to Jack.

What starts is something different. They're both changed. Not by much, they're still them. They still have their masks, the lies and the stories, but there's something new behind the mask, in both of them. Something that doesn't hurt, something that sees through the veils and catches glimpses of truth. Truth in the hunt and the laughter and the beating hearts. Truth in being alive.

Maybe it can be like this: Jack and Ianto, two men with scars. Worlds apart in some ways, but so much alike in others. It can be better.

It's a new thing. New in ways Ianto struggles to pin down. It matters what it is, now, that's new. It matters like it never did before, but Ianto doesn't need to call it anything. He could call it a hundred different things and watch all the words tumble out useless and empty, turning to dust on the ground. Because they'd never be quite right, never quite fitting.

Sometimes silence is loudest. A glimpse of truth, an aisle in a forest of lies and stories.

It's a good place to be.


End file.
